Hell or High Water
by Sekah
Summary: Toguro returns after having served only a fraction of his sentence, and finds that life begets its own sweet rewards. Pairing: Toguro/Yusuke/Kurama.
1. Peach Pit

**Author's Note:** For HRA and SPS-kun. Most of the warnings are for what I want to happen in later chapters, unfortunately. Enjoy anyway!

* * *

><p>"Dozo," Kurama said, the bough practically giving the peach to his hand, bending slightly before springing up in a release of its burden, which he passed carefully to Yusuke. The golden skin of the ripe fruit succumbed easily to Yusuke's teeth, releasing a flood of juices that poured down his chin and stained his t-shirt a darker green. Yusuke pulled back, crushing the bite to the roof of his mouth before swallowing. He smacked his lips a few times at the tart taste, and then groaned.<p>

"Kurama, if I could orgasm from fruit, I would do it for yours."

Kurama laughed, a sound as sweet as any peach to Yusuke, and then replied wickedly, "You'd be surprised at what you can orgasm from."

"I can't believe you just grew that tree in front of me. Oh God, if I could choose a power it would be yours. Why don't you come live with me?"

"Don't be foolish, Yusuke," Kurama deflected smoothly. "It takes many years of intensive study and training to become proficient at plant magic. I doubt you would last the first day."

"Hey, I kept it together during Baa-san's training, didn't I?"

Kurama chuckled again, but didn't argue the point. "So how is our—" His lips pursed as he tried to come up with the correct word. "…Visitor?"

"He was asleep, last time I looked. I'm not surprised Genkai didn't want him in her dojo. It's gotta be very nostalgic snoring—for her, at least."

They sat for a moment, Yusuke making pleased little murmurs as the peach's flesh peeled from the pit and melted in his mouth. Kurama tapped his chin, flexing his ki to make the little tree, which would never be capable of bearing mature fruit in the wild, revert back to a dried peach pit, which he shook the dirt off of and folded away into one of the slight leather pockets at his waist, flicking a clasp closed. There was nothing in there that was necessary for battle or survival, or it would be much simpler to access, but it didn't hurt to have a pouch of common ningen seeds on him. If nothing else, it aided in cooking.

"What's for dinner tonight, anyway?" Yusuke mumbled around a mouthful of peach, his eyes burning with suppressed delight as he glanced up at Kurama. He was sitting like a gerbil, hunched over the pit, slyly probing with his tongue for the last few morsels of flesh. As he turned it between his fingers, he suckled the grooves with unappetizing slurps, his hands slick and sticky with sugar.

"All you ever think about is food, Yusuke," Kurama chastised lightly, his heart far from into it. He was admiring the juice that dripped down that dapper chin, and almost leaned in to taste the succulent nectar for himself before stemming it sharply and disguising his slight motion by plucking a few blades of grass from the tufts that stuck out between the stones of the garden path. "I believe I'll make vegetable yaki-soba and fry those nikudango tonight. I'll start soon—I have to make enough for the three of us, and that may turn out to be a lot. It's likely been a long time since he ate anything worth eating. I have no doubt the fare is awful in the darkest depths of hell."

"Nonexistent, I bet," Yusuke agreed vaguely. "Those nikudango you make from scratch are much better than the store bought ones, though, Fox-Boy."

"I don't think I'll have the time. He'll wake up soon, and I think he'll appreciate having a full meal in front of him when he does. Now come inside and help me with the rice cooker."

Kurama got up, brushing himself off, and walked through the flowering bushes and shrubs to the filigreed garden gate, his shapely ass swaying invitingly as he moved, attracting Yusuke's eyes. Yusuke blinked, scrubbing at the peach nectar that coated his face with the back of his hand, and then grinned and rose, determined to eat his fill before Toguro awoke.

"Yusuke, please leave some of the yaki-soba for the rest of us."

"I can't help it, fox! It's just so damn good," Yusuke exclaimed, plucking another cooked slice of sweet potato from the pan with his bare hand. He popped it in his mouth with an exaggerated hiss at the boiling oil, his fingers twitching as he tried to decide what vegetable slice he would eat next.

"For Inari's sake, Yusuke," Kurama cried out, amused, "I also have to eat dinner. You're not the only one who's hungry!"

"Yeah, yeah. I figure you can just make yourself something else. Besides," he added, his voice honey, "don't you want me to eat my fill?"

"No," Kurama replied, deadpan. "I want you to come over here and help me put this tray together."

Yusuke looked up from the sizzling victuals in front of him, swallowing his excess saliva, and stared over at Kurama. He stood in the corner of the narrow kitchen, carefully shaping a mound of white rice into an elegant crest above one of his ceramic bowls, housewarming gifts from his mother. Finally satisfied, Kurama sighed, and sprinkled some seasoning over the top, before replacing it on the elegantly appropriated tray.

A plate piled high with meat buns and yaki-soba, delicately arranged despite the staggering amount of food he had put on there, was counterbalanced with a deep bowl of miso soup and boiled mushrooms, another bowl of fresh garden salad, and two carefully molded dishes of rice. Kurama had artfully placed a lily behind the little clay chopstick stand that allowed a pair of his good wooden chopsticks to balance over it, all carefully complemented with a slice of shortcake Yusuke was eyeing, which Kurama had gotten for himself from the convenience store, and now donated to the problem of dessert. He had even poured a steaming mug of his famous green tea, making the dinner so flawlessly tantalizing that Yusuke almost stuck his finger in his mouth as he edged closer.

"There we go," Kurama pronounced, putting a dash of his homemade ginger dressing on the salad. "Hopefully we'll have enough left for a second helping if he's still hungry after this."

"That looks incredible, Fox-Boy. Can I have some now?" Yusuke said, almost whining, his stomach feeling painfully empty.

Kurama sighed and rolled his eyes irately, wiping his hands on the kitchen rag he'd draped over his shoulder. "Fine, Yusuke. I'll make yours up now, and then take Toguro's food to him."

Yusuke let out a whoop, overjoyed to finally be able to dig into all this delicious looking (and no less delicious smelling) cooking. He followed Kurama like a duckling to its mother as he put together a heaping plate of food, and, slightly more carelessly than before, filled some of his common bowls with salad, rice, and soup, which he knew Yusuke would eat last. Yusuke opened a bottle of Mitsuya Cider, taking a swig as he sat down, ignoring the rice and miso (as Kurama had guessed he would) and picking up his chopsticks with a muttered 'itadakimasu.'

Kurama hefted the lacquered tray in two hands, smiling as Yusuke began to maneuver the chow from the plate to his mouth at a lightning pace, all manners forgotten. He walked quietly down the hall, past scrolls and hung paintings he'd picked up from a variety of legal and illegal methods and used to furnish his cottage, which resided off Genkai's grounds; past pots and patches of plants and flowers that climbed the walls even indoors, fed by his ki; and up the immaculately-kept azure carpeting that was tacked to the stairs.

He hummed a pleasant, nostalgic tune his mother had sometimes sung under his breath as he went, trying to remember the elusive feelings of the words. At the top of the steps, he turned past his room to the furthest doors of the hall, pausing to rest the tray between one hand and the crook of his arm and open a window, letting in some of the warm summer air and the hum of insects and birdsong that made the outdoors so beautiful on this gorgeous evening, before nudging his way into the second guest bedroom, glancing at the huge figure of the man who lay fitfully atop the too-small bed.

Kurama crept forward, intending to put the tray down in a place easily visible, but was surprised by the man's voice, heavy with sleep. "Come to kill me, fox?"

Kurama paused, and blinked. "To feed you," Kurama replied, his own voice guarded. "Only to feed you."

Toguro sat up with a grunt, his movements rickety and slow, and felt the high angles of his face with dull movements, prodding the place where his sunglasses usually sat.

"They're on the nightstand," Kurama said calmly. He was hesitant to move too close, but aware that he would have to eventually if he wanted to relay the meal to him. Keeping that in mind, he fought down his trepidation and walked softly up to the huge man, weight shifted to the balls of his feet in case of attack.

Toguro was adjusting himself into a seated position on the bed, pushing his body further up with another grunt, his hands running through his military-style buzz cut as though surprised to feel it. Kurama put the tray down softly on the table beside his bed, adjusting the things that had gone awry in the trip up here. Toguro looked at it, his eyes not quite blank and his eyebrows raised slightly. There was so much different about the man before him, so much that seemed as though it had been peeled away by torture.

"Was hell—" Kurama began, and then paused, realizing that that was likely not a pleasant conversation starter for the man.

Toguro looked at him, and then back at the food, his small black eyes drawn to it hungrily. "Was hell what?" he prodded darkly, his voice somehow minutely different than the one he used as a fighter of the Dark Tournament. Then, he had been sure of himself, of his worth, of his place in life—now, somehow, Kurama knew he was not.

"Was it really so terrible?"

Toguro said nothing for a moment, and then pointed to the food. "May I?"

"It's not poisoned."

Toguro laughed a wry, guttural laugh, and then picked up the soup. In short order, both of Kurama's eyebrows were up above his hairline. Even Yusuke couldn't eat like Toguro did then, knocking back the big bowl of miso like it was just a dish of sake, and seeming to struggle with himself not to forgo the chopsticks entirely and use his hands. In short order, there was nothing edible left on the tray except grease and a few ornery grains of rice, which he picked up with an oversized finger, etiquette no match for his ravenous hunger.

"Do you have any more? Any coffee?" the huge man enquired, sitting back with a sigh.

Kurama nodded carefully, moving closer to take the tray from the buffed cherrywood nightstand, leaning in without bumping the bowl of seashells that stood on the top and served as ornamentation, or the glasses that the huge man had yet to put on. "How do you like it?"

"Black. Black as death."

Kurama chuckled, refusing to allow himself to be frightened by the ferocity of the man before him. "I'll bring it up to you," he said, and then turned to leave, the tray half off the table. He wasn't expecting the giant hand that enveloped his wrist and dragged him back, a little too harshly to be called gentle. The tray fell back to the nightstand with a clatter, Kurama's brows knitting restlessly as he hoped that nothing had been damaged. His feet, suddenly twisted, mussed the rag carpet that was tucked up to the bottom of the bed.

"Stay with me," Toguro murmured, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "Please."

Kurama paused again, contemplative. "And why should I do that?"

"Because you are, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I've seen in five years, and I want to touch you."

Kurama was stunned into inaction by that strange proclamation, and then let out an undignified squawk when he was dragged onto the bed with one smooth tug of his wrist, his shirt pulled up, exposing the lean curves of his back. He wriggled, unsure of what to do as his hands unconsciously found and gripped the lacy edges of the coverlet, another gift from his mother. It was incongruent with its current occupant, who seemed to be made of stone, and who smelled so strongly of sulfur and flame. "Toguro, this is highly—"

"What? Irregular? Fox, I've spent these last five years craving soft skin and pliant muscles, good food, sunlight, and delicacy of any sort. Now that I have it, do you think I'll give it up so easily?"

"Yes, but—oh—" Kurama's head fell back with a light groan as he was flipped over and hard, rough lips laved their way up his chest, his whole body arching willingly for the starved, brutal grace of Toguro. "But," he tried once more, and then let out a soft, supple yelp as Toguro maneuvered him to place a firm kiss on the bulge of his cotton pants, Kurama's feet finding the edge of the bed and curling.

"I'm begging you, fox," Toguro said, his deep voice breaking, far from its usual impassive monotone.

Kurama lowered his head, biting plush lips in a conscious seduction, and then, after a quick deliberation, raised it with a flushed expression that spoke of lust and worry. "If you must, Toguro. Do as you will."

"Thank you," the man murmured, ever polite. He fell upon Kurama with a sigh, hands grabbing hungrily at the pert thighs, ears attuned to the little gasps of pleasure.

Yusuke had finished his dinner, and even helped himself to seconds (hoping Kurama wouldn't notice the disparities in the amount of available food), before he started wondering what was keeping Kurama. Yusuke distracted himself from the annoyance of waiting by pulling out the rest of the shortcake roll, which he downed in three bites, and then beginning to pace idly around the kitchen, wishing Kurama would return.

Finally, sick of staying in one place and aware his stomach couldn't handle another bite, he stomped down the hall and quickly mounted the stairs, taking them two at a time and bursting through the simple door to Toguro's new room, where his salutations died on his lips. In seconds, his finger was extended, the spirit gun already powered.

"You _bastard."_

"Easy, boy," Toguro said. Kurama was splayed in front of him, red faced and gasping, his pants discarded and his tunic up under his chin as long, supple limbs entwined with Toguro's hips. Toguro rubbed their cocks lightly together, tormenting the kitsune until his succulent lips fell open with pleasure, unable to stay closed, his brows permanently, tantalizingly knit. One of Kurama's hands fisted on Toguro's shoulder, clawing into the trademark green jacket, still untouched despite all his years without it. Even the kitsune's nipples were erected painfully into hard pebbles under Toguro's adept fingers, the frottage continuing mercilessly, even with Yusuke's entrance.

"Get away from him!"

Glassy green eyes opened, blinking in the shadow Toguro's figure cut out of the sunlight from the window. "It's alright, Yusuke," he panted, swallowing thickly. "I'm just performing a favor."

"Favor? You call this a favor?" Yusuke yelped, caramel eyes wide with fury. "Stop that! Stop that right the fuck now!" He stalked up to them, intending to say a great deal more, when a giant hand threaded through the short, waxed-back spikes of his hair and slammed him forward into rough lips. His mouth fell open in shock, and a tongue easily slid through, nearly choking Yusuke with its artless need. He finally yanked himself away, looking down into the placating green below him.

"I'm hungry again," Toguro murmured, amused. "You taste very strongly of good cooking and peach." He rubbed his only half-shaven chin speculatively, ceasing his motions and earning a needy mewl from Kurama, who arched up against his cock, licking pink lips. "Boy, would you mind getting me some more of that food?"

His matter-of-fact tone sent Yusuke into hysterics. "You kissed me!"

Toguro smiled ruefully. "That I did."

"You kissed me!"

Toguro grinned, and suddenly reached forward, Kurama lying petulant and forgotten below him, and gripped his enemy's crotch. "That I did," he said. "And if you don't want me to do more than kiss, go get some food and let me fuck your teammate in silence."

Yusuke mouthed, looked down at the gently amused smile on Kurama's beautiful face, and then sputtered and left, damn sure that he would not get him food, and would not remain and be molested. If Kurama wanted to do it, that was his business, but he would not.

"That was ever-so-slightly cruel, Toguro-san," Kurama hummed. Toguro frowned, and pinched Kurama's flattening nipples a little harder than was necessary, earning a shocked gasp.

"That boy has never known when and where to stick his nose," he growled. "I'll have to teach him." He smiled at that, his lips quirking up into an infectious smirk that made Kurama blink. Then, his eyes falling back on the put-out fox beneath him, he sharply jerked his hips, earning a throaty growl from Toguro and a high-pitched whine from Kurama.

Nice, Toguro thought. Very nice. I could learn to like it here.

And then he laughed, idly gripping one of Kurama's calves to expose his beautiful body completely.

Well, there's always tomorrow, he mused, and grinned again, excited to start. Kurama felt perturbed by that almost bloodthirsty smile, but was too quickly distracted by the muscles scraping pleasantly along his body to focus on it for long.

It seemed many things had changed in hell, Kurama thought with some trepidation—many things indeed.

_To be continued._


	2. Again

**Author's Note:** This chapter is my atonement for the last one.

-Sekah.

* * *

><p>Genkai knelt quietly in the open outer room of her temple, the fusuma unfastened to tempt a straying breeze and the sleek black wood of the table a firm divisor between her ex-lover and herself. The table was her favorite, a low-legged altar stripped down for her purposes, re-finished with glossy lacquerwork paintings of flowers and topped with a plate of onigiri she had been finishing before Toguro came. She regretted having them now as she caustically sipped her tea, refusing to offer the last few onigiri to her visitor.<p>

Genkai felt truly uneasy for the first time since she came into possession of this property and dojo all those years ago, when Toguro had first defected. She hid it cleverly by stopping herself from looking up into the rueful face of the man who was sitting staunchly across from her, towering over her petite form as he bent upright on the tatami matting. Toguro had clearly become hedonistic after those five years of deprivation, and Genkai considered herself, with no small amount of bitterness and regret, the perfect person to set him back on the right path (if, indeed, any path he had taken could be called right).

"You've done a good job keeping this place up, Genkai," he muttered, two fingers pinching his reluctantly offered cup of tea. He was curious of how she, a woman alone, had done this for so many years, and even jealous of the men he assumed had aided her in this endeavor, but not curious enough to ask whether it had been difficult.

Genkai took another careful drink of her tea, hunkered down like a beleaguered General in the midst of a battlefield on her side of the table. "Stop toying with him, Toguro," she snapped suddenly, her voice withered and strained as she broke the quiet expectance that had been filling the room for minutes now.

"You're not concerned with the kitsune?" Toguro asked, running an enormous finger over the lip of his cup, feeling the fired clay that had once been so familiar to him, and now roused nothing but nostalgia. The surprise that lay hidden behind his flat, deep voice irritated Genkai, making her next sip a sharp one, calming herself with the curling steam and light fragrance of the tea. "I've actually tasted him."

Genkai was further irritated that her decrepit old body was responding to Toguro's words, the crow's feet beneath her eyes lengthening, a clear sign of her age and mood. Toguro couldn't quite tell whether they grew from pain or aggravation, and watched her closely, determined to find out. "Kurama can take care of himself. He won't let his guard slip for you, and he won't get his emotions tangled into it. Yusuke will. Without any doubts, Toguro," she said, opening pink eyes that bloomed with the faded petals of her youth, "he will."

Toguro seemed recalled to himself, a wry smile on his face and his back ramrod straight. His glasses, cleaned of the dust that had coated them from their long years in hell's storage, now hid his expression just as completely as ever, though nothing covered up the slight impatience of his hand as he reached for the mug of tea he had put back down thoughtlessly, dwarfing it in his giant palm before maneuvering it to the tips of his fingers, where it sat gracefully. "And is that such a bad thing?"

Genkai looked at him with a touch of softness around her mouth that would have stunned Yusuke speechless. "Oto—"

"Am I expected to remain celibate, like you, Genkai? I wasn't when I was working, I can tell you that."

"I know, Oto." She had lapsed into the nickname unconsciously, though her words had begun to bite with anger. "I know you. And now I see your logic," she said viciously. "Yusuke would be a great conquest, a piece of ass with a heart you can break. Hell, at least he's not fourteen anymore!"

"Genkai—" he said, rough voice gentling slightly as he gazed at her from behind the glasses. His inflection on her name had the sweet quality of a something that's been said so often it can't be said any other way, rousing her anger further.

"Don't Genkai me! You've stooped so low, then? You'd really use that boy for sex and then discard him?"

Toguro laughed softly in apology. "What do you think I'm doing with the kitsune?"

"I assumed you were making Yusuke jealous."

Toguro shook his head, grunting quietly. "In this, Genkai, you're wrong—Urameshi's fox is an asset, a nice way to keep my bed warm. As…" and here he paused contritely, "is Urameshi."

Genkai snorted, her anger abating slightly against her will, and looked at him from her diminutive position with a strange expression. "Try saying that to either one of their faces," she said humorously, and then just sat and looked at him again, something indefinably hard and soft in her gaze. "I was thinking of telling Koenma to hang his administrative guilt and send you back to hell; or one of the nicer ones, at least."

A drawn look crept onto the massive angles of Toguro's face. If he had had just a fraction less control over himself that he did, his fingers would have tightened against his will and the mug shattered—not in anger, but in fear.

"But I won't do that, and I'll tell you why: you need someone to look out for you, you big idiot—and I'm curious to find out which one you'll choose, and which one will choose you. Just—" and here her eyes closed, trying to block out her emotions, "don't hurt them. They're still just boys, Toguro—neither of them deserves to have you ride in on your white horse and screw everything up."

"Like I did to you?" Toguro murmured, his voice becoming as imperceptibly drawn as his face, though he didn't deny the accusations.

She took a surprisingly dainty sip of her tea, an arch expression on her face. "Yes, Toguro. Like you did to me."

They sipped their tea in silence, Toguro balancing his and Genkai cupping hers, nursing their hurts independent of each other, and remembering the days when they were so close they breathed as one.

Meanwhile, only a few miles away, a similar conversation was playing out as Kurama stalked around his kitchen, straightening and tidying up carefully, a put-upon expression on his face.

"You _fucked Toguro_, Kurama."

"And so what if I did, Yusuke? I told you, it was just a favor for a grieving soul."

"_Grieving?_ What, did he cry on you before you started riding his cock?"

Kurama's face tightened in anger, his lower lip jutting out in something that was too serious to be a pout. "I wouldn't let our new guest hear you speak like that, Yusuke. He might take some offense."

"He'll take offense? Fuck his offense! I care about you, Kurama! I don't want him to hurt you!"

"And those are noble sentiments, Yusuke, but in real life—"

"After the Dark Tournament, Kurama? After everything he did, dragging us there, and—"

"And allowing all of us, from the girls to Genkai to you, to escape alive and unscarred?" Kurama interjected harshly. "Pretending to kill Kuwabara instead of actually killing him, so you would not have to revive two people instead of one? Those are not the actions of a monster, Yusuke! And believe me," Kurama said, one hand caressing his arm slightly and his heated voice quieting, "I've known monsters."

Yusuke's mouth closed like a trap, his cheeks coloring a little at the distant expression in his friend and lover's eyes. "But why did you fuck him?" Yusuke asked, sounding sad and lost.

"Because it was a small comfort I could give him to put balm on the pain of his wasted life. I am still yours, Yusuke; don't doubt that." His voice had quelled by the end. He turned to Yusuke and leaned back against the counter, his hands gripping its edge. He was clearly upset, his crimson brows knitted and his thick sanguine lashes covertly lowered, making Yusuke want to forgo the argument and hold him, kiss him, though doing so now would feel like a betrayal of himself.

"Are you going to fuck him again?"

"If he needs it, Yusuke," Kurama replied after a slight hesitation. "If he needs it, I will."

Yusuke wanted to hit Kurama for sounding so unapologetic, but didn't. Instead, taking in the set chin and the determination in the off-center gaze, he turned to leave, saying nothing and refusing to look in his lover's direction. The hurt bowed his shoulders and angled his slicked-back head down, his eyes skimming angrily over the suddenly hateful flooring and spots of watchful green as he stomped, like a child throwing a tantrum, out the hall and towards the front door. Kurama winced as it slammed so hard the foundation shook, his slim jaw tightening and his eyes shiny, but hard.

He turned his head forcefully to the problem of dinner, all his movements rough with irritation, the dancer's carriage compromised partially as he longed for something to snap, fight, break, or kill.

Toguro returned down the long line of moss-draped steps, his slight unease from Genkai's chastisement hidden firmly behind a veneer of grim confidence. He turned to walk across the meandering forest path leading to Kurama's cottage, past patches of ever-thickening wildlife and trees that looked like they had all sprung up and matted against each other in a shockingly short period of time, all new growth in this old growth forest. As he walked calmly through the door with a greeting that sounded strange in his rumbling voice and an eye for the damage Yusuke's exit had left, he found the vegetation that climbed in and around the house, covering its sides and its miniature trellises with mixed Makaian and ningen plants, practically writhing with Kurama's ki.

He tracked the youryoku's source, finding his way through halls too narrow for his oversized body and untouchable for wriggling greenery, and into the kitchen, where he sharply hailed Kurama, bent stiffly over a chopping board and attacking the root of a carrot. "Calm down, boy. Calm down right now. The movement of your plants is compromising the structure of your house, and a little anger is not worth making yourself homeless over."

Kurama, animated by his rage and pushed to the breaking point, didn't look up, though his cheeks were flushed with resentment as he shouted suddenly, voice high and breaking, "Yusuke is a naïve little fool!" Then he stopped, hand poising the knife right above the un-chopped half of the peeled carrot, wrestling with and then culling his emotions. He put his mask back in place, standing with his bangs covering his eyes. Toguro looked down at him imperturbably, the only sign of emotion he allowed himself a raised eyebrow. Kurama turned to him, his smile a dash on an empty chalkboard, and asked politely, "Do you have a request for dinner, Toguro-san?"

Deciding that it was the kitsune's business what and when he shared, Toguro said simply, "Whatever you have will be fine. I haven't eaten in so long I can barely taste the food, so as long as there's enough—"

"There will be plenty," Kurama cut in impetuously, his eyes glittering with misplaced aggression.

"Don't snap at me, boy," Toguro murmured, looking down at him vacantly. Kurama looked up into the broad angles of his face, surprised, but Toguro had already moved on, making his way back out of the kitchen and bending down clumsily in front of a mismatched bookshelf that stood coyly in the hall, with a poisonous looking orange vine curled around its top. He thumbed the bindings for a while, engrossed, and then pulled out a cloth-bound novel with pages delicately creased from Kurama's fingers, and began reading. He'd barely gotten three words in before he stopped, stared at the faded red cover, and grunted. "What language is this in?"

Kurama leaned over to glimpse the novel in his hands. "C'est en français. Pourquoi?"

"What?"

Kurama sighed, his anger mitigated somehow by the question, and said, "It's Cousine Bette, in French. There are more Japanese books down the hall."

Toguro grunted. "When it comes to the Japanese—well, I've read them."

Kurama looked over at him now, the hand (not loosening on the chopping knife) reaching up to stroke his pretty chin. "I have some recent ones, ones that have only come out in the last year or so. I'm sure you can find one or two that will interest you."

"Are they any good?"

"I only keep the ones I like."

Toguro walked down the hall, saying nothing more, and Kurama found he couldn't remember why he'd been so enraged. This conversation, when juxtaposed with his previous one, was almost bizarre. Toguro had shattered the scene of domestic hostility like glass.

Deciding that there was plenty to occupy him, and no reason to retain his anger, he went back to chopping carrots as though nothing in the world existed for him but that.

The stew Kurama ended up making was thick and hearty, and, aided by his encyclopedic knowledge of herbs and spices, had tasted delicious. He'd made enough for six people, too, which turned out to be just the right amount for Toguro. The man had even complimented him tersely on his cooking as they sat at the small dinner table that was wedged into the middle of the kitchen, everything, from the chair to the plates, dwarfed by Toguro's bulk. Kurama had had enough stew left over for himself, though he stubbornly refused to put aside a bit for any of the other Tantei to eat in case of a visit, not wanting to see Yusuke, and knowing that due to the various extended team's scheduling, Toguro's presence, and Hiei's current business in the Makai, no one but Yusuke would show up.

Toguro seemed content to give Kurama his space, and vice versa for Kurama, which made the time fly for both of them as they interacted and moved on solemnly, neither particularly eager to learn what it was that made the other brood. Eventually, the night having risen up and blotted out the sky hours ago, Kurama found that he still couldn't sleep. He considered calling Keiko, aware that Yusuke had probably gone to her and wanting to surreptitiously ascertain his state of mind, but quickly isolated that impulse as a weakness and eradicated it. He told himself he was doing so because it was two o'clock in the morning and she was doubtlessly asleep, but he knew with no uncertainty that he was lying to himself. Since Keiko and Yusuke's marriage had disintegrated and dissolved after the first year and a half, Kurama had found it difficult to talk to or spend time with Keiko, though she could be interesting conversation at times. His guilt was another worry to add to the litany of doubts that were adding up to a long, sleepless night, and he shifted on the trundle bed, back against the wall and book in his lap, reading by the light of the swing lamp above him.

He reached over to take a lukewarm sip of the glass of water he'd brought up earlier that night and left on the ground beside his bed, not raised like the one Toguro was using, when suddenly a gruff shout tore through his eardrums and sliced the night in half, startling him so much the glass upended. The sudden low howl reverberated through the house as the cup rolled across the floor, water soaking into cloth and creating a circle of wetness on the blankets and the carpeting.

Kurama cursed, pulling fully upright, his light sleeping shirt slipping down to expose a delicate collarbone as he glanced around quickly, body tense in case of attack. Silk pajama pants hung limply from his slim waist as the sound repeated, louder, a guttural cry of pain and fear that froze the marrow of his bones and made his hair stand on end. He edged out of the room, and then relaxed slightly as he realized where the sound was resonating from.

Striding briskly down the hall, his body on full alert, he paused outside the entrance to the guest bedroom, steeling himself before turning the knob with a dull click and stepping inside. The first thing Kurama noticed was Toguro, who was propped upright against the wall in an easily defendable position, away from the windows—the bed standing tauntingly in the middle of the room, still made. The second thing he noticed was the low, desperate moans being drawn from that huge throat, and after that Kurama's mind blanked. He stood there, watching Toguro groan, and couldn't think beyond the fact that but for a lucky accident of fate, he might have joined Toguro in limbo. That thought, seeing this untouchable giant rock like a child in the midst of a nightmare, made his veins run with ice.

"Toguro-san," he said softly, realizing that the man was asleep. He hadn't taken Toguro to be a heavy sleeper, and assumed that he wasn't under ordinary circumstances, but now it was clear that more than Kurama's soothing voice would be needed to bring him back to consciousness.

Staring at the former arch-enemy of Yusuke Urameshi, the king of the Dark Tournament and the unflappable master of Sakyo's interests, which were just a cover for his own, Kurama shuddered, and began combing through his hair feverishly, determined to end this disturbing scene. He wouldn't get too close, and he didn't want to startle Toguro into lashing out, but still, he was anxious to bring Toguro back to himself. He quickly settled on a noise-making seed he usually used in bluffs and distractions, tossing it into Toguro's lap and backing away quickly as he infused it with his ki. The seed expanded for a few seconds, looking like a popcorn kernel under heat, before a hard russet plant ripped it apart with a hollow boom and a light patch of smoke. The bristly head snapped up, startled, and then Kurama was being slammed into a wall by a massive, solid force.

"How much did you see?"

"Toguro-san—"

"How much did you see, boy?"

Kurama paused, shifting uncomfortably in the stranglehold that held him against unforgiving muscle and wood. "Enough," he said, "more than enough. I promise you, I mean you no harm."

Toguro panted, his enormous fingers fisting in the loose cloth of Kurama's sleeping shirt, rending it easily in half with a simple tug. Toguro's bearish paws wrapped around Kurama's knees, lifting his legs in the air and forcing Kurama's dainty thighs to the smooth plaster of the wall. Something stopped Kurama from protesting as his shirt, no longer adequate covering, slipped down and draped over his hips, leaving nothing above the waist to the imagination. He looked straight into Toguro's eyes, confused, but Toguro hadn't returned enough to pause.

Hard lips bent and Kurama was raised, almost until his head hit the ceiling, giving Toguro full access to his chest and nipples, which were given long, feverish licks. Toguro crouched slightly to place a sordid kiss on the forgiving bulge growing beneath the silk pants, and then stopped, panting, his sweaty forehead pushing into Kurama's thigh as he held him up by his legs. He felt Kurama trembling, and looked up into a lustful face, kissed by red on the very apples of his cheeks, framed by red, red tongue and pink lips, and in the midst of it all, the big green eyes.

Toguro sighed and lowered Kurama to the ground, slowly, ignoring the incline of Kurama's head as he stared fixedly at Toguro's face. "The promise of a kitsune," Toguro said briefly, and then tenderly moved Kurama so his feet were planted firmly on the ground.

"A kitsune's promise can't be broken," Kurama informed him with a touch of humor, still staring into the broad, pleasant angles of Toguro's face.

Toguro snorted, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose. "In the stories, maybe; and even then you seemed to find plenty of ways around it." Kurama almost smiled, but instead continued to look silently into the haggard face. "Fox," Toguro said suddenly, his deep voice almost cracking.

"Yes, Toguro-san?"

"Stay with me. Just for tonight."

Startled, Kurama looked up into his huge face, and then allowed his eyes to wander idly over the massive body, resting lightly on the muscle that was as unforgiving as iron, he knew, when one was pressed between it and the bed, speaking eloquently of the immense strength that could break him in half if it so chose. He closed his eyes, lush lips widening as he took in a fortifying breath, intoxicating Toguro with the delicacy of the face before him, and the femininity of the long eyelashes that seemed to be woven from shadows on this brilliant night. "If you must, Toguro-san. I am not adverse to it."

Without another word, Toguro swept him off his feet and into a princess hold, leveraging him from his shoulder blades and the backs of his thighs and carrying him over to the bed, where he tossed him down onto his stomach and stripped him of his pants and boxers in one fluid motion. He raised Kurama to his knees on the mattress with a practiced air, and knelt sharply on the ground before his vulnerable body, hearing floorboards creak. Slowly, almost teasingly, big hands spread those bent legs farther apart as he extended a rough, preemptive tongue to prod the tightened ring of muscle that protected Kurama's ass from intrusions of this sort.

Feeling it relax as his hands sought the cock that was filling slowly but surely with pleasure, Toguro penetrated the resistant little hole with a look of weary stoicism on his face, snaking his tongue inside while closing his eyes at the deep contractions of Kurama's inner walls and the bitter taste. He twisted it judiciously, analyzing the way Kurama's body heat rose as it began to have its effect. Once he heard Kurama start to pant, his arousal quickly blanking his keen mind to nothing, he decided to forgo the tonguing and finger him instead.

Feeling the massive digit stroking his offered hole, Kurama, tense with embarrassment and quietly fearful, said, "Toguro-san, please be gentle. Your fingers are huge; I cannot take them all at once, even just one." A rough kiss on the swell of his buttocks reassured Kurama, and then the finger pushed inside, only up to the nail bed.

There was some pain at first, Toguro smiling as he heard Kurama's endearing whimpers and gasps and saw the way his legs shivered at the strange mix of discomfort and slow pleasure; but Toguro, oddly knowledgeable about the workings of the male body (and yet clumsy enough that it was clear he wasn't too knowledgeable), quickly found the method of moving his thick, calloused finger that brought the most favorable reactions from the fox.

Kurama, feeling himself being massaged and stretched so gently by Toguro's potentially ruthless fingers, began to rock, enjoying this necessity much more than he did the first time, when Toguro, in his haste, hadn't quite prepared him properly. Kurama gasped as a second finger began to push its way inside, continuing to stroke that certain spot inside him that was making his cock grow and thicken, sensitized to the fingers of Toguro's second hand, which occasionally brushed it teasingly.

The fingers retreated once Toguro was relatively sure there was room for him without too much discomfort for Kurama, and Toguro stood, his giant stature raising him high above Kurama's body on the bed. Both his hands ran idly up and down the proffered young man, marveling at the satin skin and the receptive little shivers and movements that told Toguro exactly how much Kurama could feel his caresses. He leaned over, purposefully sliding his cock below Kurama's so the two shafts, one clothed and one not, rested together, and Kurama's velvet balls were balanced near his base, allowing Kurama to feel Toguro's pulse thud through them both from the veins that fed his massive cock.

Laying rough, unshaven lips against a pretty ear, Toguro husked, "You had a plant we used as lubricant. Bring it out."

He smiled when Kurama shuddered, a labored breath easing its way out of his pink lips. Shivering fingers reached up to pluck a seed from the back of his hair, and then it was grown into a purple fruit that looked oddly, in shape and texture if not size or color, like a pumpkin. "Break its top—the juice within the rind will be more than adequate," he purred, not bothering to suppress the seduction and arousal layered into his velveteen voice. He shuddered, feeling his body full of the promises Toguro was giving, his whole awareness centered on the thick shaft that was still supporting his own, moving gently, teasingly, with both of their breaths.

Toguro's thumb broke through the skin of the fruit with the barest application of pressure, and then his zipper was grinding as it came undone, thrilling Kurama into a primal shiver as the pants Toguro had slept in were pushed down and fingers dipped into the fruit, spreading the gel inside liberally over his heavy cock, his swollen balls, and even applying it to the begging hole before him, which twitched, pleading for more. Then the fruit was tossed away, Kurama too far gone to mutter anything about his carpet, and Toguro promised, "Just the head, first."

Kurama almost bit through his lip as Toguro's cumbersome bulk slipped from below his own cock and prodded him, hitting his creamy ass and then rubbing the cleft instead, making his hips shiver in arousal as his and Toguro's cloying musk tainted the air. "Toguro—"

The man ignored the soft request, too in love with the feeling of taut mounds on either side of his cock tightening and then relaxing in cadence with his movements to put it in just yet. His hanging balls slapped pleasantly into Kurama's perineum, and he took his cock away entirely, looking at the valley that was now slick with lubricant. He teased the opening with the blunt head of his dick once more, heat making the hole dilate in a way Toguro found intensely adorable, and then playfully rubbed it between Kurama's legs again, using frottage on both of their hard, straining cocks until Kurama's back was in a permanent, curvaceous arch.

"Toguro," Kurama panted, wanting more, needing more, images of the debaucheries he longed to bring to life making his erection practically painful.

A big hand curled around his hip in answer, feeling the flesh and muscles that made up this smooth, gorgeous hind, as the other reached up to playfully flick a flushed, tightened nipple, earning a yelp from Kurama. Toguro's hand then ran its fingertips tauntingly over Kurama's chest, feeling it shiver wonderfully in response to his movements, before abandoning the magnetic skin and gripping his own huge shaft, huffing softly to himself at the feeling of his own hand's friction, his other, less sordid palm tightening just a bit on Kurama's hip. Lining himself up, he said again, "Just the tip," and then, not without kindness, forced the promised head inside.

Kurama arched impossibly, his chin jutting out and his sweet lips opening to allow little cries of pained delight to escape, droplets of pre-come collecting in the folds of his foreskin and dripping to his mother's coverlet. Toguro grunted, and then pushed himself farther in, stopping every inch or so to give Kurama time to adjust. "You said just the tip," Kurama whispered between gasping breaths, and then let out a soft 'un,' feeling the great girth stretching him, filling him, burning him, and fueling his erotic fantasies in a way that was very far from unpleasant.

Toguro paused, and then slid another inch in, groaning, feeling Kurama react by arching even more, his toes curling as his sweet spot was prodded and passed. "Should I take it out, then?" he chuckled humorously, and when Kurama, overcome, shook his head, he pulled it out teasingly and then suddenly snapped his solid hips to thrust back in wholly, earning a cut cry from the fox as he was suddenly filled to the brim, feeling the man's coarse pants, half-off, rub against the backs of his shins. Toguro slid out once more, the lubricant working wonders, and thrust back in, his width and size and heat making Kurama's eyes roll in utter pleasure, rose lips opening up beyond their owner's will.

"Here," Toguro said, and scooped Kurama off the bed, his cock still inside him, sitting down suddenly in a creak of springs with Kurama in his lap. "Try riding me." Kurama lost his balance and pitched forward, his hot cock slapping his stomach and then tilting down as he caught himself with hands on the rock hard thighs, letting out stuttered, rapturous little sounds as Toguro's member was forced further into him, penetrating him impossibly deep. He gulped down the saliva that was suddenly filling his mouth, and managed to chuckle, aroused beyond all belief as he wordlessly moved himself farther up, maneuvering his legs to give him the traction and balance he needed. He tried a few strokes like that, his thighs scraping along Toguro's as he pushed himself up and then slid back down, but Toguro, impatient, gripped him under the thighs and arched himself, bouncing Kurama in his lap, each movement dragging another delicious mewl from the magnificent fox, who leaned back into Toguro's chest, his hands gripping at the hard ridges of muscle for something to hold on to.

Toguro stood up with a growl, his cock never ceasing to thrust violently into Kurama's ass as Kurama hung from his knees, crying out in rapture. He turned him, knelt, and laid him down, hearing him mutter Toguro in that delectable husky alto as he was bent over the bed. As if a switch had been flipped, Toguro grabbed him around the hips and began to thrust, Kurama practically howling as the bed scraped sideways with loud screeches from the wood flooring, moving with the rhythm of Kurama and Toguro's desperate, pounding hips. Toguro's two hands pulled him back onto his cock as Kurama began to writhe, his own slim palms reaching down to grip the backs of Toguro's huge paws in a frantic attempt to hang on, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the still room.

Kurama stuttered and cried out as Toguro twisted him, shaft still inside, using his legs to pull him so he lay on his back on the bed, legs and hips laying off the side and holes being torn in the downy comforter from the passionate grip of his clawing nails. Toguro bent down with a snarl, listening to Kurama gasp at the strange angle of the cock inside him, and hooked his fingers on the bed frame to pull it back into its former position, before resuming the battery of thrusts, which forced Kurama backward into Toguro's hands before Toguro pulled him forward again, Kurama in paroxysms of bliss.

"Ah—oh—Toguro!" Kurama yelped as he felt a big hand start fiddling with the foreskin protecting the tip of his angry vermillion shaft, pinching it and pulling it back to reveal the swollen head in a way that nearly made him scream in pure desire, Toguro moving his fingers rhythmically so the wild movements of their two bodies wouldn't hurt him. Kurama's skin was flushed with pleasure, sweetly accentuated by a sheen of sweat that invited Toguro's lips, an invitation that he was only too happy to accept. As he tasted an offered nipple, already hardened into a tight little nub, Kurama writhed once more, body reforming into a graceful arch. Feeling muscles tighten around him, Toguro forgot himself a little and pushed forward, hands returning to their places on Kurama's hips, blunt nails clenching until there were bruises as he dug his shoes into the wood floor from his powerful kneeling position and ravished Kurama, flesh slamming against flesh, knowing that both their orgasms were getting close, the wonderful thoughtlessness building up inside them.

Toguro came first, but longer than Kurama, who wailed plaintively, unable hold himself back as he felt the come spurting inside him, filling him up. Kurama clutched the blankets in white-knuckled ecstasy as Toguro ground into him, groaning, releasing himself deep inside as Kurama's come flew through the air and settled on his chest and lips, his parched throat gulping as his head lolled back, cushioned by his mess of stunning curls, colored a dark rust-red, the red of drying blood, in the weak light from the stars and moon. Toguro's thrusts settled down, the creaking, groaning bed quieting slowly as Kurama lay there, perfectly relaxed and angelic in his afterglow state, moaning softly as the last few shocks of pleasure undid him completely.

Toguro waited for himself to soften, one hand on the bed keeping him upright as he gorged himself on the beautiful sight of Kurama, limbo now far from his thoughts. Once he had become pliant enough, he slipped himself effortlessly from Kurama's ass. On an impulse, he leaned down and licked the semen from Kurama's mouth, savoring the salty lips that gave so wonderfully to his own, and then knelt down and mouthed Kurama's genitals, suckling the come from his supple cock, pleased by the shudder that raced up Kurama's body as his still-sensitive flesh was embraced by Toguro's hard mouth.

Toguro grunted quietly to himself and picked Kurama up, carrying him through the hallway and back to his own room, where he laid him on the bed. Then, stretching his neck slightly, he stood over the fox, and was surprised by the tenderness of the sentiments that flooded him. It was nothing like love, but he certainly did enjoy Kurama in that position, naked, sated, and fast asleep. He partook for a while longer, and then walked back to his room, sighing, and returned to his position by the wall. He hoped the nightmares wouldn't be hardy enough to return after that pleasant exertion. If not, well—maybe by then the fox would be up for a second round, he thought with a chuckle.

"You fucked him again!"

"He needed it again."

Yusuke yelled wordlessly in frustration, ignoring Toguro as he came to the bottom of the stairs and looked on, brows arched in annoyance. Yusuke saw where Kurama was looking, and turned away, meaning to walk by Toguro and out the door. Just as he was moving through the hall, however, away from his lover cooking Western-style eggs for his and Toguro's breakfast, he was nabbed by the arm and found himself being dragged painfully up the stairs.

"Come here, Urameshi," Toguro muttered into Yusuke's scowling face. "We need to have a talk."

Behind them, Kurama hid a smile as he began flipping the eggs, knowing exactly where this was going. He cracked another egg into the pan, assuming Yusuke would be hungry when they finished.

_To be continued._


	3. Vines

**Author's Note**: This chapter featuring the amazing disappearing plot! Marvel! As Kurama bares it all! Gasp! As the Toguro/Yusuke I wanted to write falls through the cracks!

I'll stop now. Enjoy.

* * *

><p>The door closed behind them with a bang, Yusuke flailing a bit to get away from the iron grip encompassing his forearm, his attempts to escape nearly making him trip over the carpet. Yusuke resented the loss of his Mazoku privileges, trying to regain the dignity he had misplaced at the last tournament.<p>

Toguro had no trouble at all tossing him down onto the springy mattress—he barely had to flex those piles of muscle before Yusuke went sailing. His side hit the blankets hard without him really feeling it, the impact mussing the sweaty bed sheets he groped at to get up, reeling at the smell of semen all around him. Indomitable as always, he was on his feet a second later, his fists balled and his caramel eyes wide with fury.

"Sit down."

"Make me!" Yusuke spat.

"Calm down and sit, Urameshi. This won't take long."

They glared at each other, chins jutted, their expressions so strangely alike that Yusuke faltered a bit, unnerved. He started avoiding the irate angles of Toguro's face with some difficulty, scowling at a wicker chair sitting in the corner of the room, despising the fact that he felt like a kid again compared to Toguro's massive, nostalgic size.

Toguro's black eyes were small and burning behind his glasses, causing Yusuke to crane his neck suddenly and settle his fists in the pockets of his sweatshirt, still clenched tight. His adam's apple bobbed as he searched for what to say, before he unequivocally broke the silence, dropping his chin to frown at Toguro defiantly.

"Stay the hell away from Kurama, Toguro."

The burly man growled, his lips drawing back until he'd bared his teeth, reminding Yusuke of a bear about to clamp its jaws on its prey. "And why should I, Urameshi?"

"Because—"

"Let me tell you something: I'm not raping him. If you want to take this up with anyone, take it up with him."

"I kn—" Yusuke started, infuriated, but Toguro cut him off and overrode him with such force that even Yusuke Urameshi had no choice but to shut his lips tight and listen, glowering or not.

"You may want to keep in mind, though, as you take it up with him, that your jealousy is just a nuisance to him. He's the type of demon who's free with his body but careful with his heart. I know that type very well. I'm not stealing something he hasn't already given—if I'm stealing at all. You, on the other hand, are taking that thing I just said he was careful with and manhandling it, and in the process making a damn mountain out of what is, to him and me, a molehill."

"Well gee, Muscles, thanks for the advice," Yusuke drawled, his fists itching to swing straight into the bastard's face.

"You needed to hear it."

Yusuke clucked his teeth, his slit eyes fuming, angry that he was being lectured by Toguro, of all people, angry that his lover was betraying him with his enemy, and even angrier that he could see, even if Toguro couldn't, the other dimension to this triangle.

Kurama had had flings before, but this was more solid than that, too well rounded to be simple lust. Kurama seemed to trust Toguro, to like him, to be willing to put aside his pride and do little things like cook for him and smile at him, things he usually reserved for Yusuke. In the Spirit Detective's opinion, Kurama was being drawn towards Toguro like a dog on a leash, pulled closer and closer and too complacent to try to get away. It was more than Yusuke could handle.

Yusuke was chewing on these hard thoughts as the silence stretched, Toguro watching him coolly, and they left a bad taste in his mouth. With nothing more to say, and not willing to start a slam-down in Kurama's house, Yusuke pushed past him towards the bedroom's door, and Toguro sighed, raising his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Wait," he said, and then grabbed the crook of Yusuke's arm as he turned around. Yusuke's shocked gasp allowed in the tongue that slipped through his lips, and pulled out again when Yusuke attempted to bite it, hard. Yusuke flailed ineffectually, yelping against his attacker's mouth, punching Toguro's shoulder hard enough to jerk it.

Suddenly the kiss was broken with a wet smack, and Toguro leaned back up to his usual impressive height, watching Yusuke gasp and pant, trying to regain his breath.

"What the hell was _that_ for?"

"Kurama and I are fully capable of fucking someone without giving a damn for them. You're the only one who isn't."

Yusuke huffed, too infuriated to speak, and breezed out the door on autopilot, heading down the stairs and away from the cottage, passing right by Kurama. He was shouting after him that there was breakfast, if he wanted it, but Yusuke, for once pushed past even the grumbling of his stomach, gave no response.

Kurama was levering the eggs out of the pan and onto a plate, irritated that whatever had passed between Toguro and Yusuke had only served to put the unpredictable boy in a worse mood, when he was stopped by a massive hand curling over his wrist, tilting the egg from the spatula as its owner's form pressed up against him, a pillar of stone behind him.

Not one to mince words, Toguro leaned forward and down, bending significantly to attack Kurama's sensitive ears with a gruff mouth, savoring the primal shiver that graced lithe shoulders as facial hair scraped along the soft, receptive skin. Rolling the lobe between his teeth and smiling at the quivering body before him, his curious paw of a hand cupped Kurama's groin firmly, feeling how hard he'd gotten as Kurama let out a shuddering gasp and clenched his legs.

"I take it it didn't go as hoped," the kitsune sighed.

Toguro grunted, fondling the soft flesh in his palm. "No. Talk to him."

"Why should I?" Kurama said coldly.

"Because he needs it," Toguro husked into a pink ear. Kurama cocked his head and smiled.

"Will you eat, or would you rather jerk me off?"

Toguro leaned back, leaving Kurama's eyelids fluttering, his whole body bereft and achingly warm, regretting his joke. His pants and underwear dropped a second later, the muscles of his slim legs spread gently as his partial erection was grabbed at the hilt, making him groan shamelessly. "Bring it all to the table and I'll do both."

Kurama snorted at that promise, and then let his head loll back as he whined, feeling calluses coax his shaft into complete hardness with surprising ease, his hips swaying with each pull on his member and his toes curling in their slippers.

_Crack!_

Kurama's scrotum tightened deliciously as he keened, nearly coming just from the feel of Toguro's coarse palm sticking to his ass, soothing the tremors of the hit. His muscles jumped as something hot, long and hard as stone began to jut into him from beneath the zipper that scratched rouge marks into his stomach, making him squirm even more wildly. Sweat and pre-come were staining wet patches into Toguro's trousers, but neither of them spared a thought to that.

_Crack!_

"Toguro, _Gods…"_

The huge hand raised high in the air, about to slam down again onto that tender rosy ass. Toguro quirked his lips when he saw that Kurama couldn't help arching his back over his knee, anxious to receive it. _Crack,_ and he was bucking at Toguro's trousers, the rough material harsh on his cock—and finding something incredibly erotic about that. From this angle he could smell Toguro's dick as clearly as if it were buried to the hilt in his mouth, the overpoweringly primal scent of musk taunting Kurama.

Toguro chuckled deeply, and swatted his hand down playfully, stopping it right before it connected. The wind hit anyway, and the lissome form over his lap jolted forward, moist lips forming a vicious ëoh' that made Toguro let out a rumbling snarl. He shifted and grabbed the left cheek of Kurama's ass, kneading it roughly while one finger went below the young man's arched, delicate chin.

Toguro put the slightest pressure on his thick digit and watched as Kurama rose with it, his masses of scarlet curls spilling around him, obscuring parts of his face and neck and leaving others delightfully exposed. Kurama's hands reached down to balance on a bulky thigh, his lungs expanding with pants. Ringlets of hair were glued to his skin by his aroused sweat, heightening the beautiful image he cut.

Kurama gulped, and then opened his mouth to gasp as a fingertip pushed between two sore mounds and brushed his opening with surprising gentleness. Immediately, Toguro sealed those lush lips with his own, his tongue snaking through a widening mouth and pulling him into a lusty, dominated kiss. With a thorough swipe of Kurama's warmth, he pressed the pad of his finger into the tight muscles that protected Kurama's achingly small hole.

Toguro pulled his face back, breath crashing against Kurama's lips. Then Kurama was scooped up, letting out an undignified squawk as Toguro got off the bed, Kurama writhing in his arms, and dropped him down on his back, ankles off the mattress, tremors going up the fox's succulent body as he stared lasciviously at his tormentor and wondered what was next.

Toguro grunted, and grabbed Kurama's ankles, lifting them up in the air until he had a clear view of everything he wanted to see. "Your plants," Toguro growled.

"What?"

"Fuck yourself with them. I know you do. Once you've done a good enough job, I'll replace it with my cock."

Kurama blinked at him, shocked. "But—"

"Don't cross your legs now. You've done this with Urameshi, right? Let him watch?"

"It's a—slightly different circumstance," Kurama muttered lamely, those wide green eyes still blinking up at him, confused. Toguro cocked an eyebrow, and Kurama blushed slightly. "What position?"

"This one," Toguro answered immediately, "this one right here." A virile grin crossed his face, and Kurama's eyes widened effortlessly, looking almost scared. Toguro planted a placating kiss on the swell of Kurama's ankle, five o'clock shadow scraping loudly against the skin and making Kurama shiver pleasantly.

"I, I—"

"Your plants or my tongue. The plants will be more fun for both of us, I think."

Kurama gasped, and then moaned as the minute stirrings of the air met his stiff, straining cock. His balls were retracted tightly, his shaft twitching and bobbing with breath, and he closed his eyes and arched his back, forgetting Toguro's request. Toguro, who had been holding Kurama's legs like a plastic doll's, straight out and spread, watched as Kurama's fingers curled in the white coverlet on the mattress, pushing back to keep himself from hanging straight up and down. Toguro grunted.

"My tongue, then," he murmured quietly, and leaned down, feeding the long legs and arching toes over his shoulders.

"W-wait," Kurama stuttered. "Wait." And then he paused again, his blush deepening.

"For what, Fox?" Toguro asked impatiently.

Without answering, his beautiful face almost as brilliant as his crimson mane, Kurama flexed his power. Slowly, tentatively, greenery arched from his hair. Kurama yelped and thrashed as the vines, imbued with their own free will, suddenly exploded with life. Thin tendrils leapt across the taut chest, swishing against smooth, sweaty muscles and finding his nipples. His curling hands fisted, trapping blankets in a vice grip as two vines wrapped up his begging nipples in a tight pinch and began to gyrate.

"Just the nipples," Toguro commanded, his face completely motionless as he took in the erotic sight stretched below him, noticing the wisps of greenery racing to envelope Kurama's cock.

Kurama panted once, twice, bucking at the air, and then flexed his power. His legs automatically moved to close, but Toguro pulled them farther apart, so nothing at all touched his dilating hole and his jumping cock.

The plants on Kurama's nipples pulsed and twitched and pulled, and then Kurama, seduced by Toguro's teasing, tightened them almost past endurance and then extended two small vines, thin and fragile, and slowly made them stroke the sensitive tip of each nipple. They jabbed and caressed those pursed nubs until his upper body was heaving with every breath, a light sheen of sweat and a sweet blush covering his rosy young body.

Toguro was breathing heavily too, the monster between his legs seconds from ripping through the painful constriction of his pants and popping the zipper in half. "Now—you can't touch your cock, but you can use your ass."

"In this position—" Kurama whimpered, intensely aroused.

"A new one, then," Toguro said shortly, and dropped Kurama unceremoniously onto his back, listening to him yelp as he bounced a bit, the mattress creaking and his cock bobbing and slapping his stomach. Huffing at the erotic sight spread before him, all supple muscle and smooth skin, Toguro fixed his eyes for a moment on the blushing shaft nestled above a smooth, wiry tangle of crimson pubes, and then tore them away with difficulty.

It was easy to scoop him up and flip him over, a massive hand on his upper arm holding him as his body was maneuvered to its knees. Kurama mewled, finding something so erotic about this, so erotic about the dominance, and let out a soft grunt when Toguro let go of his arm, letting him fall into a curved, languid position on the bed, and grabbed his ass, a buttock in each hand, spreading it lewdly.

Feeling vaguely embarrassed, Kurama trembled, the embarrassment heightening his lust until his whole body was on fire, kissed by red from tip to toe as he bucked, wanting something to touch him, caress him, envelope him. He was so caught up in his rapture that he couldn't control his plants, and they relaxed and slid off him, pooling underneath him like the set of clothing he had long since discarded, adding to his frustration.

"_Toguro,"_ he moaned, and Toguro captured a desperate hand as it wandered towards the hard source of his fervor. Toguro placed it back towards his front.

"You chose your plants, so use them. That, or accept a punishment," Toguro said, and grinned wolfishly. A beautiful eye, as long-lashed as a girl's, sparkled back at him mirthfully, and then, in an exercise of will, the plants began to slink up his arms again. He gritted his teeth as the crept along his sweaty, heaving chest, and then cried out when his painfully stiff nipples were finally found and swathed in tiny feelers.

Others had begun the long trip over his navel and down towards his ass. At a murmured command from Toguro, they parted and swept over his hips and down the crease of his thighs, laying soothing caresses on Toguro's thick fingers that made Toguro let out a shaky sigh, his eyes intent behind the glasses.

Kurama was panting and wheezing, barely able to direct his molesting plants. When the vines reached the muscled ring and began to feel their way into their master, indolent, gentle, Kurama too far gone not to tease himself now in the place of Toguro, Toguro took pity on the fox. Toguro's fingers found the inside crease of his thigh, where leg met groin, inches from the shivering member that was bobbing and pitifully tight, and stroked it, feeling Kurama jump. The fox's legs spread as pre-come dribbled from his straining cock, and then Toguro enveloped his hanging balls and began to bounce them, gently, still teasing.

"Ah—Ah!" Kurama yelped, and, spurred on by his hot need, his plants curled into one long, silken feeler, and plunged in. Kurama's back was in a permanent, curvaceous arch as he tried to direct them, and then he screamed when they curved and found that place inside that made him see stars.

"Make them spread so I can see."

Kurama lowered his head, chest heaving, and then the feelers widened, opening him up for Toguro. Toguro squeezed his balls, watching a shiver run up the smooth flesh of a thigh, Kurama's hips shaking with arousal, blushing patches of color on his skin.

Kurama jerked and craned his neck to stare back when Toguro's finger slid in, the lubrication of the vines giving his thick finger room to work. Kurama groaned like an animal as it curved, finding the bundle of nerves he was looking for and pressing mercilessly. Kurama's moist lips widened, wordless, his fingers sawing holes in the comforter.

"Good enough. Take your plants back, and I'll fuck you." Toguro was already up, walking to the nightstand, his belt coming off and coiling on the mattress and a big thumb pushing out the buttons of his fly, sighing as some of the constriction was relieved. He folded up his glasses, listening to Kurama writhe on the mattress, and put them down with all the lazy intention in the world. Then he rummaged in the drawers for the tube of lubricant he'd bought yesterday, and climbed onto the bed, which groaned under his weight.

Kurama's plants were gone, bright green eyes up and watching him slyly, lustfully, as he undid the rough buttons of his coat one at a time, kneeling on the bed, and shrugged the garment carelessly off, tossing it to the ground. Toguro threw the lube at Kurama, who caught it on reflex, examining it, popping open the cap to sniff. Mouth curving deviously, Kurama held it in a palm and crawled along the forgiving mattress, his teeth closing on the metal lip of the zipper, drawing it down with a scratchy roar. Toguro became caught in his boxers, bending down slowly, until he sprang free and up, bulging and needy in front of Kurama, his foreskin stretched tight over the engorged head.

An immense hand entwined with long scarlet locks as Kurama wedged his tongue between the foreskin and the head, rolling it down skillfully with his mouth. Musky pre-come dribbled as he continued suckling the head, deft tongue making Toguro groan, using his hands to coax the lube from its container meanwhile with a few harsh twists. When he had a good amount, he closed the cap, still sucking, and rubbed it between his hands until it was nice and warm, the viscous gel slicking down his fingers and smelling pleasantly of strawberries. Then he embraced the fat, rigid cock, feeling it bob in welcome, and began massaging it with glossy digits, working languorously from the balls to the base on up, starting slowly and moving faster, wringing it, until the shaft was sleek and shiny.

He drew back his mouth with a lascivious pop that vibrated down Toguro's dick and made him grunt, his hand still clenched in Kurama's hair. His fingers loosened at a sign from Kurama, who collapsed backwards onto the mattress and lifted up tantalizing hips, using his lube-smeared fingers to prepare himself, circling the entrance and then delving further in with a moan. Toguro watched Kurama's shoulders tense and loosen for a moment, golden eyes impossible to read, and then dragged Kurama's hand back with a loud growl, nudging himself beneath his raised hips, a hand at the root of each leg.

"Wait, Toguro, I haven't stretched myself proper—ah!" He arched back, head slamming into the mattress as Toguro sheathed himself between the cheeks of his ass in one stroke, the sensations of Kurama clenching instantly around his massive cock making him snarl, the vice-like walls beginning to ripple as Kurama moved his muscles. "Toguro…" Kurama moaned, his face tight with pain. Toguro was momentarily oblivious, his hips jerking in half-thrusts to get the last inch in, pushing Kurama back with the force of his hips before he used his grip on his legs to jerk him forward again.

Kurama gasped, his ass still red and tender from Toguro's spanking, the prodigious size and girth of the cock slowly being slid out of him making him moan as he tried to replace the soreness with pleasure. Seeing the pained look on Kurama's face, Toguro thrust a bit more gently, reaching down to palm his cock. As he pulled, Kurama groaned, pleasure sparking to offset the pain.

Soon, Kurama was arching back to meet Toguro's movements, and every time he did Toguro became a bit rougher, squeezing Kurama's cock and yanking on his hips or hair to move his body the way he wanted it. He was skilled—Kurama didn't register the pain as anything but pleasure anymore, and seeing that, Toguro began to push his threshold further, bit by bit, until their desperate hips were pounding and Kurama's flesh rippling harder than it ever had before.

Toguro yanked out and flipped Kurama over, using his hair to pull him onto his hands and knees and then penetrating again, smoothly, Kurama thrusting his hips back to meet him, vocalizing his ecstasy with a series of yelps. Toguro watched himself disappearing in between the taut mounds, moving in and out easily now, and somehow, an image of a young, pink-haired girl, legs straight in the air and eyes sly, was superimposed over the redheaded boy before him.

Toguro closed his eyes, feeling himself riding closer, deceptively smooth and full as heat built in his stomach and behind his ears. Kurama, reading the cues of Toguro's body, moved himself so the cock filling him and then leaving him bereft, piercing him over and over, was hitting all pleasure points simultaneously, Kurama squeezing on it too. In response, Toguro growled and tugged Kurama's cock faster, rougher, rippling his fingers, moans drawn from pretty lips as the fox felt himself suddenly rushing to meet Toguro as well.

The blistering heat washed over Kurama with no warning, and he was tightening, howling—then, seed coating Toguro's fingers, he went limp. Toguro continued fucking the tight, then loose entrance, inches, seconds away—and then there. He groaned as he came, leaning over, one hand keeping up Kurama's supple, mewling body, the other braced against the bed. The final thrust poured the last semen into Kurama's relaxed hole, and then Toguro braced himself, breathing heavily. He waited for himself to soften, laying idle kisses on Kurama's damp skin, and then felt himself slip out, semen running down Kurama's legs, making his face squinch up.

"Well, that was certainly pleasant," Kurama muttered tiredly.

Toguro laughed, and then got up to go to the shower and bath, Kurama following moments later with a limp, the soiled sheets in his hands. There was no such thing as cuddling among demons.

* * *

><p>"Yusuke, I've told you a thousand times—" Koenma murmured tiredly, and began suckling his new pacifier compulsively when he was interrupted yet again.<p>

"But he's fucking Kurama!"

"Yes, but even if he were raping Kurama, _legally_ the Spirit World can't get involved—"

"That's bullshit!"

"It may be bullshit," Koenma said, attempting to override him, "but in this instance Toguro has committed no crime. Would you really send a man to hell because you don't like him having relations with your friend?"

"Damn straight I would," Yusuke growled. "He shouldn't be out anyway! I don't give a crap if he was sobbing and begging you to let him back when you toured hell, he shouldn't—"

This time, it was Koenma cutting Yusuke off. "You don't know a damn thing about hell, about Limbo. He shouldn't have been there in the first place. I couldn't—" he paused to sigh, something in his voice keeping Yusuke from bursting in. "I couldn't leave him there. Even after everything he'd done to us, he didn't deserve ten thousand years of that. And would you really consign him to it because Kurama's attracted to him?"

Yusuke glowered, taken aback by the seriousness in Koenma's voice. "—No," he answered honestly.

"Then stop bothering me, Yusuke. Go get Botan to fly you back, I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Yusuke was too good-hearted to protest, though he stormed out of the office more than walked.

Koenma sighed, remembering haunted eyes with a shiver, set in the face of a young boy, big for his age—Toguro under the duress of Limbo. Returning to toddler form, he leaned his head on the desk and asked ogre for a drink.

Jorge brought him his milk with no trouble, and then Koenma abruptly announced it was time for his afternoon nap, and went off to his four-poster crib.

He hoped Toguro wouldn't make him regret his clemency, and drifted off to sleep thinking up punishments for him if he did.


End file.
